


if you love me, let me know

by thomasmxller



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 20:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12825318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thomasmxller/pseuds/thomasmxller
Summary: Basti will claim he doesn’t remember what happened next.They believe him of course. He experienced serious head trauma, why would he lie?He’s mostly telling the truth.





	if you love me, let me know

Hearing is the first of Sebastian’s senses to return. Thomas’s voice washes over him, angry with the recklessness of the challenge, demanding a yellow card in compensation. The away crowd, small but making itself heard, is behind the captain, tossing insults at the offending player in frightening unison. 

 

Time is precious and moves quickly, counting down to an undesirable result. He should get up, he knows he needs to move but the pain of the blow wins out, basti choosing instead to remain on the pitch, blades of grass tickling at the soft of his cheeks with each harsh breath. There are soft hands on his back, one comforting, another touched with concerced. A third joins them, and pushes at his hip, demanding action. 

 

Basti dutifully rolls over onto his back, certain the medical team have finally deigned to examine him. When he opens his eyes, instead, he is greeted by the concerned face of niklas, whose eye scan quickly back and forth across before swallowing nervously.

 

‘How bad is it, doc?’ Basti jokes half-heartedly, the fingers pinching his nose muffling his words. Niklas only shakes his head in response, frowning minutely, his eyes focusing on the upper part of Basti’s forehead. Subconsciously his unoccupied hand gently prods at the area, wincing inwardly at the pain. His fingers come away sticky. He hardly has time to stifle a gasp before Niklas grabs at his wrist and gently moves it out of Bast’s line of sight. 

 

‘Hey,’ Nik states forcefully, ‘eyes up here.’ His hand moves from where it was pressed into Basti’s hip to tap his chin, and direct his gaze upwards. They sit like this for a moment, feigning calm that neither feel, matching breaths with one another. 

 

Feeling returns now, the numbness fading into a dull ache that pounds at the inside of his skull and begs for release. The stadium’s light only serves to make it worse, the rays beating down mercilessly on the players below, Niklas’s solid figure providing little relief. Another teammate wanders up behind them, and Basti can instantly read the worry in each of the wrinkles on Joshua’s forehead. He says something under his breath to Niklas, the words drowned out by the roar stadium before they can reach Bastian’s. The two turn their heads minutely, and Seb follows their gaze towards the distinctive figures of Helmut and Christian lumbering towards him at a half sprint. 

 

‘Bit of a rough crowd, tonight, isn’t it ?’ Joshua asks lightly, his hand pressed his forehead to block out the light as his eyes sweep the stands.

 

Niklas laughs humorlessly, ‘Wouldn’t expect anything less from the Yellow Wall now?’ 

 

Joshua hums in agreement, continuing to sweep the Sudtribune, his eyes occasionally flickering back to Basti’s prostrate form. 

 

Huffed breaths alert them to the medical team’s arrival, Helmut kneeling behind Basti’s head and Christian choosing instead to sit opposite Niklas. A gloved finger gently probs at Basti’s forehead. He gasps once more, his eyes fluttering shut against the pain. Niklas’s fingers tighten minutely around his wrist before moving to interlock their fingers. 

 

More footsteps. Someone (basti’s brain swear is jo) hisses. 

 

‘If you guys are just about done wasting time,’ an impatient voice starts in english, ‘oh putain.’ 

 

‘Yeah, well maybe if you guys would remember we’re playing football and not practicing the can-can ..’ Joshua retorts aggressively.

 

Another squeeze of his hand from Niklas, and bastian realizes they are talking to him. 

 

“We’ve got to move you now. They’ve ref wants to get the game going again,” Hans tells him. 

 

Basti presses his palm into the ground and makes half an attempt to pull himself upright before three pairs of hands move to assist him. As soon as he’s is sat upright , the pressure against his forehead is increased and the dull thump of his heartbeat fills his ears, drowning out the sound of medical tape as its snipped to secure the compression on his head. 

 

The hands move him once more, draping his arms across the shoulders of the two medics before guiding him to stand. 

 

‘It’s my head that’s hurt, not my legs,’ he grumbles, as he is dragged to the sideline like a ragdoll. 

 

‘Yes, but your  _ head  _ controls your legs. We let you walk on your own and your head decides it’s not up for the task? Oh no, I don’t think so.’ 

 

They sit him down, having arrived at the sidelines, Helmut rummaging through his bag while Christian removes the temporary bandaid. Basti’s eyes roam nervously, dancing back and forth between the Dortmund bench and his own. 

 

The former is unconcerned with his presence, their attention having turned back to the match with the whistle. His bench, however, is alight with activity, Javi having wasted no time in stripping off his warm-ups. Basti watches as the coaches shove a book under Javi’s nose, his eyes scanning the page as he jumps from foot to foot in a harried attempt to prepare himself. 

 

Realization of what’s happening catches up to Basti as Javi jogs to the touchline, sprinting in place before frog hoping as he wait for the fourth official to make the change, Basti’s number flashing in bright red lettering. 

 

‘Hey wait,’ Basti protests uselessly, Javi having already taken his place, ‘I’m fine! I just need you to staple this up and I can head back in!’ 

‘Well it’s too late now,’ Christian responds unapologetically, ‘Ancelotti wants to be cautious and we have yet to evaluate you for concussion.’

 

‘But-’ Basti tries once more. 

 

‘Unless that sentence ends with a ‘my medical degree allows me to make an informed decision about my injury’ I don’t want to hear it.’ 

 

Basti frowns but nods in acceptance, the pounding in his head growing once more and overpowering the last of his fight. The pounding turns to ringing and suddenly, Basti would rather just lay down and sleep. 

 

He says as much to the medical team…. or at-least,  he tries to, the words rolling around on his tongue, jumbling themselves unrecognizably before spilling out of his mouth. 

Helmut turns to refocus his attention on Basti, apparently having found the his flashlight. He takes one look at the player before frantically motioning to someone on the bench. 

 

‘Shit.’ 

 

With this, Helmut’s gaze shifts as well, his eyes widening upon viewing Basti’s face. 

 

‘Ah fuck okay, Sebastian stay with us here,’ he instructs nervously, his moving to support Basti’s head. 

 

But Basti can hardly hear the instructions over the roaring. He just wants to…. A darkness overtakes him suddenly. 

 

_ Sleep.  _

 

_ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ _

 

Later on, Basti will claim he doesn’t remember what happened next. 

 

They believe him of course. He experienced serious head trauma, why would he lie?

 

He’s mostly telling the truth. 

**Author's Note:**

> me, at myself: finish it before you post it  
> evil me, back to myself: just post the first half to make sure there's enough interest for a second 
> 
> anyway i literally love this pairing, there is so much love and potential!! i probably have 4 WIPS for them so wow 
> 
> let me know what you think :D


End file.
